Beastly Beauty
by Jay1892
Summary: Struggling fashion designer, Arthur Kirkland, is on the bottom of the fashion ladder, but with a little help from his model, Alfred F. Jones, he may just shoot his was to the top.
1. Such is the Life

_Skritch, skritch, skritch_…. Arthur's pencil worked against the textured paper, bold lines and gentle streaks appear in the wake of the tip. His lithe fingers curved and bent in the familiar movements as he worked. "Here you are, sir." A voice said. There was a small _clink_ and the warm scent of freshly brewed tea wafted up to his sharp, petite nose. He muttered a small word of thanks, but did not look up from the lines appearing on his paper. The world around him was buzzing, a wild mix of clinking dishes, murmuring voices, and shuffling shopping bags, but he remained engrossed in his work only momentarily looking up to gaze at the scenes around him. Somehow the mall served as the inspiration that fed directly into his mind and flowed through his pencil. Diversity was key in this profession of his.

The lines and curves were bold against the stark white paper and with the outline finished what was left was color. Arthur reached into his bag, taking out his neatly (anally) organized Copic marker case. He flipped open the flap and searched for the correct color, midnight blue. His trained eyes moved down the spectrum of marker caps till the greens began blending into blues ranging from lightest to darkest. He looked to the spot where the color should have been resting safe and nestled in the canvas case, but was surprised to find that it, in fact, missing. He checked again. If his system was right, which he knew it was, midnight blue should have been right in between sapphire and Prussian blue. Still no matter how many times he looked or checked the marker was still, in fact, missing.

"Bullocks…" He muttered to himself, thick brows furrowing. He dropped the marker case on the table with a _thump_ drawing attention from the table next to him. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his lean chest with a pout and a small 'humph'. Well what was the man to do now? He could return home and search for the missing marker, but…. He tossed a longing glance to the creation on his paper. What if the marker wasn't at home? Then he would have to wait until the next day to get one. He had to finish this while it was still fresh in his mind otherwise it might not come out the way he wanted….

With no other options Arthur closed his marker case and sketchbook and placed them back safely in his bag. He quickly finished off his slowly cooling tea and placed some money on the table before getting up and slinging his bag over his shoulder; he was off to the art store. He knew very well that the art supply shop was on the second floor, down the east corridor tucked in between Macy's and Hollister. He walked along at his usual brisk pace, but not so much that it made people wonder 'Why the hell is that guy walking like that'. His loafers made a soft _click_ on the floor as he walked, sharp, green eyes darting back and forth at the many people he passed.

Possible ideas, he thought to himself.

He finally made it to the correct store, walking inside like he had been there a million times- which he had before- and directly to the back where all the Copic markers were lined up nice and neat according to color and brand. His eyes traveled across the rows to the dozens of shades of blue. Navy blue, federal blue, sapphire, and…. "Bloody fuck." He cursed to himself when he found that the spot where midnight blue should have been was empty of anything, but a bit of dust and a price tag for the inexistent item.

Why the universe so bent on ruining his life?

Arthur gazed around a bit more to see if someone might have misplaced the marker in a different slot, but all the colors were in their respective places and midnight blue was still nowhere to be found. He let out a heavy, frustrated sigh and gazed down the aisle. At the end of the aisle was an employee, a tall blonde boy with glass who appeared to be somewhere around his late teens and early twenties. He was humming some pop song that Arthur vaguely remembered hearing on the radio as he stocked the area where sketchbooks were kept. Arthur turned on his frown and marched up to the boy, putting on his best displeased customer act.

"Excuse me," He said as he approached the boy. The boy did not respond, but only continued what he was doing. "Excuse me." Arthur said again a little more loudly. Still no response. The boy only continued to hum his song and place the sketchbooks in their places. Okay, now he was getting irritated. "Excuse me!" He said a lot more loudly, tapping the boy briskly on the shoulder. The boy finally stopped humming and looked up at Arthur with a dumbfounded look. He reached and pulled something from his ear and, wait… was that… oh, of course, ear buds.

"Oh, sorry about that. Can I help you with something?" He asked a friendly smile on his face as he looked down at Arthur with bright, energetic blue eyes.

Now he was pissed, but he retained his anger and merely frowned, "It appears that you are out of midnight blue Copic markers on the floor. I desperately require one and I would like to know if you have some in the back."

"Midnight blue?" He asked, grimacing slightly as he rubbed at the back of his neck. "Sorry, man, but someone else just bought the last one and we'll be out of stock until the day after tomorrow." Arthur's frown increased, folded lines growing more prominent at the corners of his lips. "Weird, a lot of people have been buying that color lately. It's almost like it's the in thing." The boy laughed; an annoying sound the bounced off the shelves and came back to Arthur's ear like a ringing that wouldn't stop.

Arthur continued to frown, "That's because it is," He retorted very matter of factually. "Do you know nothing of the world of fashion?" The boy gave him another dumbfounded look and cocked his head to one side like a dog.

"Nope, not a gosh darn thing!" He proclaimed with a bright grin as his head snapped back up.

Arthur rolled his eyes. What was wrong with this boy? Was he an idiot? Judging by that dopey look on his face it didn't seem like he was too quick on the draw about anything let alone something as fast paced and changing as fashion. Arthur sighed once more, "Well that's just perfect. If I don't get these designs in by Friday…" He didn't want to think about the possibility. He was already struggling enough to get by with what little money he made, but if he lost his job then….

"Hey," The voice of the boy interrupted Arthur's thoughts. "Just wondering, why do you need to buy another midnight blue marker?"

Arthur shot the boy a stern look. Why should it be any of his concern? "Well, I'll have you know I happen to be a fashion designer and I am in desperate need of one of those markers for my work."

"No," The boy replied. Arthur gave him a bit of a perturbed look. "Haven't you noticed? You have a marker right there in the pocket of your bag." The boy pointed one thick, calloused finger to the bag around Arthur's shoulder and sure enough when he looked down there was a marker poking out the side pocket. Arthur snatched it up and looked at label and sure enough 'midnight blue' was written in bold white letters against the dark blue background.

Now he remembered. Last time Arthur had used it he realized he was late for a meeting and had no time to put the marker away properly before he rushed out the door. He had just barely gotten into the conference room on time that morning. Arthur could have thrown the stupid marker on the floor and stomped it into the ground, "Bloody mother… stupid… such bullocks…" He muttered and cursed almost inaudibly as he grabbed out his marker case and shoved the infernal writing utensil back in its proper place.

"Easy with the mouth there, dude, there're little kids around." The boy said, blue eyes darting around behind his glasses at the people who began staring at the blonde man with the thick brows. Arthur shot him a furious glare. "It's alright, people forget stuff sometimes, it happens." He said, holding his hands up as if in surrender. Arthur only glared with his venomous green eyes once more.

"Thank you very much, but I won't require your help anymore." With that Arthur pushed past the blonde employee and strode out of the store. Well this was fantastic; the idea had faded away.

**My newest fanfiction featuring fashion designer!Arthur. Can you guess who that art store employee is? ;) **

**Comments are always loved 3 Thanks! **


	2. Gentlemen Start your Sketching

_Skritch, skritch, skritch_ Arthur's maker moved on his paper creating bold streaks in the wake of the tip as his humble little sketch came to life on the page in all its Technicolor glory. He had a good feeling about this design. Arthur pushed his reading glasses up his sharp, petite nose as he reached over to the side table and gingerly took the handle of his tea cup betwixt his thumb and forefinger. The warm familiar scent of black tea filled his senses as the soothing taste washed over his tongue.

Arthur looked down over the half moon lenses of his glasses, emerald eyes taking in the sight of his latest design. Luckily when he had returned home later that evening, midnight blue marker successfully recovered, he remembered what he was going for with this design and was currently working on the finishing touches. He put down his tea cup and grabbed his marker once more adding just a touch more shading to the skirt. _Skritch, skritch_ and done. Arthur surveyed his work once more and smiled to himself at its perfection. If this didn't earn him that promotion than nothing would.

Arthur placed his design in a nice, unmarred folder along with a few others he had made earlier in the week. With the requirement of five new designs designed, sketched, and colored to perfection Arthur was ready to head down town to his office and show off his work. He could have burst with the excitement brewing within him at the thought of finally working his way up the fashion world ladder. With a small spring in his step Arthur slung his bag over his shoulder and headed down from his small studio apartment to the busy streets below.

The streets of New York were as busy and bustling as ever. Then again what else would one expect from the city that never sleeps? Arthur had been living in this legendary city for nearly a year now. New York was known for its prestigious fashion industry and it seemed like a good place to try and start out fulfilling his dream. So he left his homeland of England and came to the good old U.S of A. He didn't really like it (The people were loud and obnoxious, over weight and obsessed with fast food, and absorbed with themselves and patriotism) but he kept a stiff upper lip like any good English gentleman. He found a decent job at a small fashion industry and so was the life he led now.

The light on the crosswalk changed and Arthur looked both ways, just to be sure, before he crossed the street with the mass of other people. His building was located just on the corner of the street in between some sort of mailing company and a law firm. Arthur headed up the steps and to the elevator, pressing the up button and waiting for the machine to make its way down to him.

"Ah, well if it isn't my deal L'angleterre," A voice flitted from behind him, one very familiar and very much so hated voice. Arthur's gaze flicked back behind him and he wasn't surprised to see the familiar face of one certain French business associate. Francis Bonnefoy, his most hated arch rival and potential contender for the promotion Arthur was aiming for. Ever since Arthur had met the older European he always hated him and that was before he even found out he was an ass. Just the way he looked was enough to make Arthur irritated. He thought he was so irresistible with his chin length locks of golden wavy hair, his smug smile, and that obnoxious bit of stubble on his chin that he said made him look more mature. His jerky personality was just an added bonus.

"Well if it isn't the frog." Arthur replied back sharply, turning his back on the other man.

"Oh, don't be that way," He said, sliding up next to Arthur like the greasy slime ball he was. "So what have you got today? More of those pathetic little doodles you call fashion designs?" He said voice smug with a smile just the same.

Arthur sent the older man a hard, venomous glare, "I'll have you know that these 'doodles' are going to blow whatever scum you have clean out of the water." He replied sharply.

There was a small ding and the elevator doors parted open. Francis pushed past Arthur and stepped into the elevator. The smug smirk on Francis' face only grew wider. "I would quit that confident attitude if I were you. I hear the boss has a new challenge for us and I have a feeling it will knock you out flat on your boney English ass." Arthur was about to protest against Francis' words, but the elevator doors closed before he had a chance to speak.

The Briton's lips tugged down into a deep scowl as he looked at his reflection in the dull stainless steel of the elevator. What did Francis know? Arthur was a fantastic designer; he just needed to find that big break that would get him up on the fashion ladder. Even if their boss had something planned, as Francis had said, Arthur was sure he could handle it. Right, confidence was key.

Arthur waited for the elevator to return again before he too went up to the floor his office was on. He bid good morning to a few of the more pleasant people in his office, including a soft spoken and polite Lithuanian named Toris, and headed for his cubical. It was a small space with a drafting table, a few drawers for various utensils, and an out of date computer. His space wasn't personalized save for a few boxes of different teas and a cup for his use. He placed his bag on the desk and took a seat in the uncomfortable swivel chair. He took a moment to sigh and lean back giving Francis' words a little thought. He reached into his bag, taking out the folder he had placed his designs in and gave the drawings a glance over…. Maybe… they really weren't that good….

"Oh bullocks, belt up, Arthur, would you?" He scolded himself and closed the folder again. Why should he let what Francis say get to him. That ugly frog was just jealous of his talent. Yes, that was it.

"Arthur?" A voice interrupted the Briton's thoughts. His green eyes flickered to the open break of his cubical. The woman he recognized as his boss' secretary was standing there with her blonde hair cut short and modern and her designer clothes clinging to her form. "Mr. D'angelo wants you to bring him your designs."

"Yes, of course, I'll be there in just a moment." The woman nodded, her bob cut bouncing as she did so before she sashayed off like she was the stuff. Arthur gave his eyes a little roll. He stood up from his desk, hugging his designs close and taking a deep calming breath. "Show them what you've got old boy." He gave himself a little encouragement before he left the safety of his cubical.

He strode between the familiar maze of cubicles to the back office in which he knew his boss resided. He gave the door a little knock with the back of his knuckles and a stern 'come in' resounded from the other side. Arthur wrapped his lithe fingers around the silver knob and turned, using his shoulder to push the door open. The office was much more spacious than his own by a very long shot. It was chic and modern which was to be expected from man like Andrew D'angelo. It was only the very best for him.

"Ah, Arthur, good to see you've come in." He said, voice carrying that trade mark snip that it had not only for the Briton, but for pretty much everyone in the office. Francis was already there with his own folder of designs already tacked up on the bulletin board for examination.

"Good morning, sir." He said politely despite his disliking for the higher up. "Shall I put my designs up on the board?"

"Yeah, yeah put them right under Francis'." The smirk on Francis' face seemed especially smug right then because of the wording of the sentence. Arthur gave a small frown, but did as told. He took out his designs and tacked them up with care under the ones Francis had done. He gave them a brief comparison. He never liked Francis' designs, they were always far too over flamboyant filled with ruffles, and frills, and ribbons. "Okay, Arthur, so why don't you give me a little summary on what you made?" Mr. D'angelo suggested, leaning back in his expensive la-z-boy swivel chair.

"Well sir, you gave me the theme of melodrama so I tried to focus on a Victorian-esc kind of style. This dress features a large frock, but the skirt is short. It's parted in the middle with two sections pulled into bunches and are tucked into a Byzantium velvet waist sash while under it if a layer of chiffon ruffles…" Arthur continued the explanations of his designs, pointing out their special qualities and uniqueness. When he was done he became silent and looked to his boss for what would be either praise or severe criticism.

Mr. D'angelo crossed one leg over the other and leaned back in his chair, stroking his chin and giving Arthur's designs a good long look, "Well…" Arthur held his breath. His heart beat so rapidly in his chest he was afraid it would jump out and smack his boss right in the face. Of course though, that didn't happen. "I like them; I think you captured the theme really well." Arthur could have done a victory dance and jumped up on the table and screamed 'Ha! In your froggy face!' at Francis, but he was a gentleman and gentlemen didn't do such things. It was a good thing he was so interested in Victorian culture and style. He knew it would come in handy one day.

"Thank you very much, sir, I am glad you find them acceptable." Arthur said, being careful not to show too much enthusiasm lest he ruin his steady, calm reputation.

The boss turned to both men (Francis was bruiting a little bit and that made Arthur very happy), "Well, you both did a pretty good job on your assignments so I'm not sure which one of you I'm going to promote." That was a bit of a disappointment. "So I'll give you one more assignment and then based on how well you do that I'll decide which one of you will be getting a fatter paycheck at the end of the week." Another assignment? Maybe… was this what Francis was talking about earlier? Arthur swallowed a little thickly and waited with batted breath to find out what exactly this assignment would be.

"You'll both be design and make three outfits for the Viva La New York fashion show in September. You have three different themes to follow, one for each outfit. The first is masquerade ball. Second is roaring twenties, and third is punk rebellion." Arthur mind was already starting to pulsate with ideas. Yes, a nice floor length ball gown of a brilliant red with-. His thoughts were never finished. "But there's a catch to this little gig…. All of your designs have to be for men."

…Men? Did he just say men? Oh no… no, no, no, no. Arthur always designed for women; they were so easy and versatile when it came to designing clothes, but men? Men were a much more difficult sort and it was one thing Arthur had hardly ever dabbled into. He could already feel the promotion slipping through his finger tips. "You will both need to find your own models, but I'll provide money to pay them. I'm giving you a budget for what materials you'll need to make the outfits, but if you go over it you'll have to pay out of pocket." Mr. D'angelo gave both men a stern steady look from behind his white Dolce and Gabbana glasses. "You got it?"

Both employees gave a nod and a 'Yes sir.'

"Good you've got three and a half months. Gentlemen, design to impress."

**So, don't hold me to anything I say about fashion designing or the industry and whatnot because I really don't know what I'm talking about. I just have a basic knowledge of what I found on Google. So if anyone wants to correct me please go right ahead. **


	3. Model Behavior

A model. A model? Where in the bloody name of the queen was Arthur going to find a model? He wasn't the most sociable of characters and despite the fact he had been living in New York for a year he was rather friendless. The only people he really conversed with were the various people in his work place and shop employees like the cashier at the grocery shop and the boy at the art store. Arthur was a man who rather liked his privacy and alone time and valued it greatly and therefore had no friends or even connections for that matter.

Arthur looked down into his mug of tea and at his reflection in its steaming, sepia surface. The familiar, varying voices of the mall murmured around him. It was his top place for inspiration and this drink bar happened to serve half decent tea for an American shop.

What was he to do? The Briton had never been fond of designing for the male form what with its thick limbs, straight sides, and, well, a certain part of anatomy a designer always had to be wary of. Clothes for men always had to be designed in such a specific way since you didn't want them to appear too feminine. With women it was much easier since you could put them in something feminine or masculine and they would still look fantastic. With women the possibilities were endless; with men they were limited.

"Bloody fucking… stupid boss… Francis… git face… arsehole…" He mumbled a string of curses to himself. Cursing was a horrible habit he picked up, but was never decent enough to stop. It was like smoking (Which he, admittedly, did as well).

"Jeeze, do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" A voice interrupted him mid stream. Arthur's gazes flitted up to have his green eyes clash with those of a bright azure hue. Arthur recognized the face and struggled a moment to place the face with a name even though he knew no name to go with it. It was merely the boy who worked in the art shop only… well he was working here too.

Arthur sent the young boy as frown, "What does it matter to you if I curse or not?" He snapped.

"Hey, no worries, no worries," He said, dismissing Arthur with a little wave of his hand. "I curse too; I just try not to in places where small kids are." He laughed that annoying laugh of his; that kind of laugh that just scream 'Not a single care in the world'.

Suddenly the boy gave Arthur a good long look, a serious expression washing over his bold, square cut features. Arthur nervously looked back and forth; a little perturbed as to why the stranger was staring at him with such a horrible intensity. Was there something on his face?

"W-what…? What are you gawking at?" He asked feeling his cheeks burn a light shade of red at the unwanted attention.

"You seem very familiar…" The younger blonde mused as he stroked his square chin despite the fact it was clean shaven. He gave Arthur another good long stare. Goodness, was it really this difficult to figure out? Thought Arthur supposed he had to give the boy at least a little bit of slack, a lot of people went in and out of stores and he probably saw dozens of different customers. But you think one would remember a cursing, forgetful, British man with a set of thick black brows despite the fact his hair was golden blonde. "Oh!" He suddenly exclaimed as the memory seemed to hit him. "You're that guy with the funny accent from the art store! Hey, did you put that marker to good use?"

Arthur didn't answer the boy's question, but merely looked at him with a good bit of a ticked off expression in his eyes. Was that the younger man could do to remember him? "I do have a name, I hope you realize, and my accent is not funny." The Briton snapped.

"Well duh, I'm sure you have name, but I don't know it." The boy said in his defense. "Alfred F. Jones, hero extraordinaire." He said, offering a friendly hand to the Briton, a wide grin, and a bright shine in his eyes.

The elder man would have rolled his eyes and maybe even laughed at the younger's introductions, but he was a gentleman and gentlemen had to be courtly to all IQ levels, "Arthur Kirkland." He introduced himself as he gingerly took, the newly introduced, Alfred's hand.

"Nice to meet you, Artie!" Alfred grinned broadly, giving Arthur's hand a vigorous shake. That boy had one hell of grip. Arthur nearly had to get a crowbar in order to pry his hand away from the American's grip.

"Arthur is fine." He corrected, finding the marred version of his name distasteful. Alfred didn't seem to be concerned with Arthur's correction. He seemed like the type to have selective hearing.

"Hang tight a minute, Artie, let me go take care of these customers." Just like the ADD prone child he appeared to be, he went off to the group of giggly girls that had appeared by the cash register. Arthur sipped thoughtfully at his tea and gave the American bartender a glance over. He was of a good a build. Tall, maybe around five foot ten. Muscular yet not in an over bearing way, the result of balanced exercise and indulgence. His limbs were long, but not gangly and he seemed to have an element of unique grace as he moved. One of Arthur's thick brows rose. His face wasn't bad either. Not bad at all.

"So tell me," Arthur inquired as Alfred made his way back to him once the customers were happy and served. "How many of these… glorious jobs do you have?"

"Three," He replied cheerily. Arthur wasn't entirely sure how he could. "I work at the art store Wednesdays and Thursday. Fridays and Sundays here, and then on Monday's and Tuesdays I'm at Mc Donald's." Arthur frowned softly. Gaia, how did this kid manage to look so happy when he was working every day of the week? Arthur's line of work called for extreme amounts of time and dedications, but he would probably lose it if he didn't allow himself Sunday's to relax and run errands.

"Good lord, a bit of a workaholic, aren't you?" Arthur quipped as he took a sip of his tea.

"Oh yea, something about working just turns me on." Arthur nearly choked on his tea, looking at the younger man with a perturbed expression. "… I was being sarcastic. Jeeze, don't they have sarcasm in Ireland or where ever it is you're from?"

Arthur scowled, "I'll have you know that I'm not Irish, you twit. My accent is obviously English and, yes, we do have sarcasm. We invented the bloody language." He gave a very manly 'Hmph' as he crossed his arms over his lithe chest.

"Well excuse me, Jonny English." Alfred replied, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

"Johnny English?" Arthur replied both in question and distaste.

"Johnny English. You know that movie with Rowan Atkinson and-!" Arthur cut the lad off before he had the chance to really babble.

"Yes, yes, whatever you say, but I've gotten off topic. Now look," Arthur leaned forward a bit. "See, I am a fashion designer and I have a large project to do that's completion holds the fate of my career and my even being in this country."

Alfred gazed at Arthur with one slightly arched brow from over the rim of his Styrofoam cup, "Yeah… and your point is?" Alfred seemed a little confused as to why Arthur was telling him all of this.

"… My point is that I am in need of an employee a model to be exact, that I can use to design and make my clothes and I do believe that your tall, muscular stature would be perfect for the themes that I have been assigned."

Alfred continued to give Arthur the same look, "… Are you hitting on me…?"

A furious blush blossomed over Arthur's cheeks, "A-Absolutely not!" He squeaked as he put his cup down and nearly spilled it in the process. "Look… I am only asking for you assistance in a job I am doing, nothing more, nothing less. You will be paid and I can guarantee you it's more than what you're making at all three of your jobs combined."

A hush settled over the duo as Alfred seemed to mull the over the job offer. He stroked his square jaw and chewed his inner cheek as he thought, "So… you're saying that all I'd have to do let you dress me up for a while and you'd pay me more money then what I'm making now?"

The Briton shrugged his shoulders softly, "… More or less, yes, that sums it up."

The young American gave it a bit more thought. His bright eyes looked around at his place of work, the steaming machines that spat out nothing, but caffeine ridden beverages and produced a mild source of social interaction with people who actually weren't mall hopping snobs. His other jobs, from what Arthur could tell, were just as glorious. Those blue eyes came back to Arthur's and the Briton arched on thick brow in a silent question, "… Y'know I hate this job…. The only good thing about it is all the free coffee. I'm, like, addicted to that shit." A smirk cracked across Arthur's lips. "You've got yourself a model."

Arthur extended a hand, "Then I do believe we have reached a deal." Alfred took Arthur's hand and gave a vigorous shake making the Briton resemble a ragdoll more than a man.

"Awesome! I promise I'll be the best model I can be! You won't regret your decision!" Arthur struggled to pull his hand away from the overly excited American, but finally managed and pulled his, somewhat maimed, hand away.

"Well I certainly hope so… after all my entire career depends heavily on this boy…" He muttered the last part to himself and the other man, luckily, didn't seem to hear. The Briton proceeded to reach into his bag, fishing out a business card and a ball point pen. "Now, I'll right my address on the back of this card. You can come anytime you'd like after four o' clock." The Briton explained, letting the pen flow with the dips and curves of his elegant script.

"Okay, that'd be cool. I've got classes until three."

Arthur arched one brow, "You're a student as well? Do you even have time to breathe?"  
>"Sometimes it feels like I don't." He replied cheerily. "But thank God for coffee! I don't know where I'd be without caffeine."<p>

The Briton merely rolled his eyes, "… Well fantastic," He said, handing over the card to Alfred and rising from his seat now that his cup had been emptied. "Then I shall see you tomorrow. And please…" He trailed off looking Alfred up and down one last time. "Don't wear purple and brown together ever again. It does not go well with your skin tone."


	4. The Project

He wasn't coming. He wasn't coming and of that Arthur was absolutely sure. _Tink, tink, tink_ went Arthur's nails as he drummed his fingers against the porcelain surface of his teacup. His tea had long since gone cold, but somehow cradling the cup in his hand calmed him down by the slightest of bits. He wasn't coming; Arthur was sure. What an absolute idiot he had been. To leave the future of his career in the hands of a young, virile college student had to be one of the worst ideas he had ever come up with in his short lifespan. That areshole was probably flirting with a group of those obnoxiously giddy girls (The ones with the fake blonde hair and huge knockers who believed that Rob Pattinson was _actually _attractive), laughing about the pathetic little British man he had lured into a false sense of hope and…! Dear God he was cynical….

Just then, a sort of ringing echoed in his mind. "What the bloody…?" He was about to think that maybe he had pushed himself off his rocker with the stress of this upcoming project, but then he heard the ringing once more. Where could it…? Oh right… there was such a thing as a doorbell. Someone was at the door and whoever it was must have been very insistent for they kept pressing the little button repeatedly as if one time was not nearly enough. "Alright, alright… good Lord, don't get your knickers in a twist…" The Briton muttered to himself in annoyance as he wrapped his lithe fingers around the metal surface of the knob.

The next few seconds were a bit… odd and out of focus. It seemed as if a whirlwind had burst into Arthur's flat and sat itself down on his couch like it lived here. That's because a whirlwind did and that whirlwind's name was Alfred. A rising and falling whistle found its way out of Alfred's pursed lips as he gazed around the interior of Arthur's studio apartment. "Damn, swanky little place you got here. Way better than my dinky old dorm room." The American laughed as he placed his worn converse sneakers on Arthur's nice coffee table.

Arthur's eyes narrowed, "I thank you for compliment, but I must ask you to remove your filthy shoes. I just cleaned this morning and I'll be damned if all of my efforts are ruined by your poor house manners." He claimed, crossing his arms tightly across his thin chest and popping his hip out ever so slightly to convey his annoyance.

Alfred looked up at Arthur with wide blue eyes a moment as if he didn't quite understand what he was talking about, but soon he rose from the couch, pouting slightly, and went to kick his shoes of by the door. He seemed a little disheartened and Arthur couldn't help, but feel a little pang of guilt for the scolding the boy just so. The Briton chewed his inner cheek in thought a moment, "I um… I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound cross I just… I've been stressed lately…" Which was an absolute understatement.

Alfred looked up at Arthur again with those baby blue eyes. They were… such a lovely shade of blue, Arthur noticed, like a cloudless sky on a warm summer day. "Don't sweat it," He dismissed with a wave of his hand, the smile returning to his face. "We've all got our off days."

Arthur tossed the younger man a brief, grateful smile. The last thing Arthur needed was his only model storming off and leaving him helpless like a fish out of water. He would have to be more careful next time. "So… may I offer you something to drink? Coffee, tea?" The Briton suggested, moving towards the corner that held the kitchen.

"Coffee would be totally awesome. I was up studying all last night so I would be lying if I said I wasn't ready to just pass out on the floor." He laughed as he went and took a seat on one of the stools at the breakfast nook. There was no sort of dining table in the apartment. Arthur found it a waste of space since it was only ever him and he was perfectly content to sit at the cozy little nook and eat whatever charred meals he managed to cook for himself.

Arthur gave a soft hum as he went through the cabinets in search of the coffee. He himself never drank the stuff, but he kept it in case of the event someone in his home did. He guessed it was a good idea now. "That's right, you're a student…. What's your major?" He asked out of curiosity.

"Medicine. I'm gonna be a doctor." The American announced proudly.

The elder gentleman had a hard time believing that. He was sure the spunky teenager would say something like athletics or criminal justice. Arthur wasn't saying Alfred was dumb, but it hardly seemed like he had the attention span to study medicine. "Really now that's…" Surprising. "Nice."

The American smiled, "Yeah, it's sorta a tradition in my family. My dad's a doctor and my grandpa was and his dad and way down the line like that. My great, great, great, I don't how many greats, grandpa was a field surgeon during the revolutionary war. Pretty badass right?" His eyes sparkled with pride.

Arthur found distaste whenever he talked about the subject of the revolutionary war (Bloody ungrateful lot those rebels were) but he supposed it was a rather interesting fact. He could hardly keep track of just how far back his family went in England and he was rather proud of his heritage. "Yes, I suppose so. My family has been very prestigious in England since as far back as the middle ages." He replied, pouring water into the back of the coffee maker.

"That's neat," He grinned. "History is pretty epic, but I wouldn't wanna be a historian or anything. If I wasn't gonna be a doctor I'd totally…" He trailed off a bit, eyes staring down into the grainy surface of the countertop. Arthur looked back at the previous bright American and furrowed his impressive brows. There was something in those baby blue eyes that Arthur couldn't exactly place, but in a way it looked extremely familiar.

"What…?" Arthur asked, prompting Alfred to continue, but the American merely shook his head and turned his million watt smile on.

"Nothing, I'm gonna be a doctor. Pops would totally kill me if I wasn't." Something about what Alfred struck a familiar cord with Arthur, a very familiar cord. In all honesty, Arthur's father detested the idea of him becoming a fashion designer. He had wanted Arthur to go to Oxford University for business and eventually take over the family business when his father became unable to run it anymore. It was obvious which thing Arthur didn't do since he most definitely wasn't at Oxford.

Arthur turned on the coffee pot and it started bubbling and gurgling as it always did. The Briton moved to put the kettle on to make himself a cup of tea. He needed to do something for the air in the room became a bit unsettling. "Well then," He began as he placed the kettle on the stove and turned on the gas. "I suppose we should discuss business now." He finished as he came and stood at the counter in front of Alfred. "Now, I have yet to start designing the outfits, but I would like to get your measurements today that way when I have figured out what I want to do I won't have to call on you again."

"You haven't even started designing? Why the hell would you hire a model when you don't even what you want them to model yet?" Alfred asked.

Arthur frowned, "I don't know. I suppose I was just mainly worried about having a model, I have no problem designing…." It had always come naturally to Arthur. He would probably start sketching out ideas out tonight. "Besides, it works in my favor. If I had started designing and made a more feminine outfit than I would've had to start all over again. You obviously don't have the structure to pull off a look that should be made for someone with a feminine physique."

Alfred smiled impishly, "You mean like you?"

"Yes exactly- wait a moment!" Arthur suddenly realized what he had agreed to as Alfred started to snicker. "Are you saying I'm feminine?" He demanded, placing his hands on his hips in a rather girly fashion (Which was unintended on his part, but only proved Alfred's case further).

"Well…" He sort of drew out, avoiding Arthur's acidic glare. "You don't have a build like me. I have muscles and you…."

"What and I don't?" Arthur snapped.

"Uh…" The American's eyes darted back and forth nervously between the bubbling coffee pot and Arthur's stern, emerald glare. "W-well uh… I'm sure uh, you have muscle just uh…." He tried to cover his tracks (And was failing fantastically), but thankfully the beeping of the coffee machine saved him any explanation. Arthur's gaze lingered on Alfred a moment longer before he answered the infernal machine's call. The Briton retrieved a mug from one of the upper cabinets and placed it on the counter before filling it with the potent, umber liquid. Even if Arthur hated the taste of coffee with a fiery passion, somehow the smell always made him feel more relaxed. Arthur placed out a small bowl of sugar and a creamer for Alfred's use.

"So does this show have a theme or something? I know on Project Runway they usually have themes whenever they have a fashion show." Alfred inquired as he started spooning a bit of sugar into his mug.

"It has three different themes, masquerade ball, roaring twenties, and punk rebellion." He answered as he retrieved a cup for himself from the upper cabinet.

"Cool beans, yo," Arthur wasn't exactly sure what that meant, but he supposed it was positive. "Those should be, like, a piece of cake, right?"

"Well I'm not sure…." Arthur muttered softly, starting into the empty cup he had brought down for himself. In some instances he believed he could do anything, but in others he felt like he was just an insignificant spec trying just trying to get by. Arthur wasn't sure what to think quite yet, but he had a feeling he would soon start seeing the glass as half empty.

"I'm sure you'll be great." Alfred assured, flashing the elder man a brilliant, confident smile. "You seem like the kind of guy who's really passionate about what they do."

Arthur offered the smallest of smiles in return, "Thank you… I-!" But he didn't finish for the ear piercing shriek of the kettle started to fill the space of the room. The Briton quickly jumped to remove the screaming kettle from the heat lest he start developing a headache; one of the last things he needed at the moment. "In any case, I believe you'll want me to explain how your payment will work out."

"Yeah, that'd be cool." Alfred replied, taking a sip of his coffee. "Do I get paid at the end or like weekly or something?"

"Which ever method you want. I could pay you smaller amounts weekly or I could give you the entire sum when I no longer require your services." Arthur explained, pouring the freshly boiled water into his cup.

"Weekly is better, college doesn't pay for itself, does it?" He laughed a little and took another sip of his coffee. His straight nose scrunched up a little in distaste, "Needs more sugar…" He muttered as he reached for the little sugar dish Arthur had laid out.

"That it doesn't, but you can't possibly- dear lord!" Arthur had been watching Alfred as he pretty much shoveled at least five spoonfuls of sugar into his mug. "Would you like some coffee with your sugar or shall I just let you devour the entire dish?" The Briton retorted as he looked at Alfred's cup with distaste. He would never even dream of dumping that much sugar into anything he drank.

Alfred gave his shoulders a little shrug, "I like things sweet. So what if I add a little sugar?"

The Briton raised a thick brow, "A little?" He said skeptically. Alfred only offered an impish, little smirk and took a sip of his super sweetened coffee with two blonde brows raised.

Arthur grimaced a little at the phantom taste of something too disgustingly sweet on his tongue, "Whatever…. Alright, we'll discuss it further later, for now I really must get your measurements." Arthur abandoned his freshly brewed tea in favor of his trusty tape measure. "Now would you kindly strip down to your knickers?"

There was a cough and choke as Alfred spit back out his sugar infested beverage, "Wh… you want me to do what?" He asked in astonishment, not entirely sure if he had heard Arthur correctly. Never before had someone so boldly asked him to strip.

"Take off your clothes." He repeated himself, a bit more simply this time and without the slang so even Alfred could understand what he was talking about. "The clothing you're wearing now will hinder my measurements and I will have no such poppycock."

"Jeeze, shouldn't you buy a guy dinner before you start telling him to take his clothes off?" Alfred retorted, intending for the statement to be a joke.

Arthur's cheeks started to burn a light shade of pink at the suggestion, "Oh, belt up. Just hurry up will you? The sooner I get your measurements the sooner I can get this project going. Business, that's all this is, business." He said sternly, turning away from the idiotic American so that he may change without his watchful gaze.

A wry smile played on the corners of Alfred's lips as he watched Arthur stir his tea in an attempt to distract himself while the American started to pull his t-shirt over his head. "You're a crazy guy… you know that?"

The other men hesitated a bit before answering, "No, love, I'm a fashion designer."

"Same difference." Alfred quipped with the amused smile still tugging up on his lips.

**Been a while since I updated, buy luckily I've had a bit of time to start writing again now that I've gotten used to my college schedule. Woo! So yeah, I feel like this chapter was kind of slow and I'm not entirely happy with it, but… enh. I still hope you all enjoy it. Love you all, you're positively fabulous every one of you. 3 **

**Oh by the way, a user on deviant art has started to make a comic version of this story! *Squees with joy* Check out the link! http:/ saya loves train .deviantart .com /gallery/ #/ d4b05n6** **(just get rid of all the spaces). **


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